The Clock Strikes Black
by Kelly Nichols
Summary: The Clock Strikes Black is a continuation of where Lewis Carroll's "Alice' leaves off. Once Alice grows up, The Mad Hatter finds his sanity slowly disintegrating beneath the pressures of a world that never changes. Driven insane by his constant loneliness, he kidnaps a girl named Emeline De Vane, who is forced to struggle through the chaos that Alice left behind. Reviews welcome!
1. The Foreboding Whispers

Prelude

Once upon a time there was a gentleman who fell in love with a girl.

Chapter One: An Unfitting End

A story was passed through the generations of a ghost that haunted the old house, terrorizing those who walked the halls at night. A bone piercing cackle would send them running to their rooms for cover as he darted through clouds of smoke. Servants would tell stories of the mad old man as they carried her to bed, cradled gently in their protective arms.

"They say he died of a broken heart and still roams the house at night, looking for _her_," a servant had once whispered as he held her small pale form, never telling her exactly who the man had been looking for. "Those are the noises you hear at night Emeline, did you know?" Emeline had shaken her head no, terrified that the ghost would one day take her away from her home.

As he placed her small body atop the bed, she clung to him. "Do not leave me Tristan, please!" She wailed, a child of five clinging to him as if for dear life.

"Ah, but you should not fear," he whispered kindly, shushing her as he flashed her one of his boyish smiles. "He is only after her, love. As long as you stay in your room after dark you need never worry." He raised his eyebrows teasingly. "You are brave, are you not?"

She smiled up at him, her shoulders squaring bravely. "Yes, Sir," she piped with her young voice, diving beneath the covers as he tucked her in.

"What a brave girl you are," he had whispered, shutting the door quietly as he left her alone with the footsteps and laughter that would continue to haunt her dreams for years.


	2. The Murderous Trick

It had not yet struck ten in the evening, yet Emeline could already be found trying to fall asleep. For years she had regarded the stories just as they were. _They have just told me these things to confine me in my room. _She had told herself such things countless times, yet still hid herself away when the night came. She refused to hide under the covers as she had when she was a child. _These silly lies they tell me, you would think they would tire of their games. _And yet, she couldn't deny hearing the voices that echoed down the halls as she tried, in vain, to sleep.

"Come to me," the voice enticed, its silken tone daring her to betray her better judgment.

"What harm could come of it?" Reason left her as curiosity took hold. She rose from her bed, nervously clutching the bedclothes. _If I am as brave as Tristan, I should get through this easily enough. _It was only too easy for her to tell herself that she was brave, but following thought with action was a harder matter. She could not yet hear the footsteps, but knew they would come. _They always come._ Many times she wondered why the ghost laughed when it was said he died of a broken heart. _Could that be the twist of madness? One must act happy, even if they are morose? _Chills ran up her spine; she didn't wish to explore the depths of insanity.

In the dead of night she finally heard the familiar footfalls, teasing her as they repeatedly passed her door. Dark chuckles could be heard, as though the ghost enjoyed her increasing feelings of trapped paranoia.

She jumped in fear as something was tapped against her door, followed by a dragging sound as though someone was tracing a cane across the outer wall.

_It has never done that before. _Terrified, she sat frozen in her bed.

"Come to me," the voice whispered from beyond the door. A shadow crossed the threshold beneath the door. _Ghosts do not have shadows... _

Quickly, before her terror reached an unbearable point, she rose from the bed and dashed across the dare not whisper, knowing they might hear her. The fact that she couldn't call to her sister for help, fearing the thought of putting others in jeopardy, made her heart pulse frantically.

"If you will not come out to me, I am afraid I will have to come in to you," the voice hissed, causing Emeline's stomach to twist in terror.

Breathing heavily, she walked to the door, fingers tentatively grasping at her nightgown. Her bare feet felt almost warm against the cool carpet as she inched closer to the door. _What awaits me beyond this door?_ Her hand uselessly wrapped the thin night gown around her other fingers as though to distract herself from the impending danger, the action utterly failing. Looking back, she wasn't sure what had lured her to the door, no doubt placing herself further into harm's way. Perhaps it had been her unfailing curiosity, although she tried to vehemently blame a ghost's trickery.

Her trembling hands reached for the handle, which would give way to the stranger on the other side. Immediately, she knew by the slight movement of the handle that a hand rested upon it on the opposite side.

"I know you are in front of the door, must I pull you out?" The voice was coaxing, yet she detected a hint of impatience, steel wrapped in a silken veil. The tone did nothing to quell her fear. What would a ghost want with a young girl?

Using all of her strength, she wrenched the door open, deaf to the crash as the ancient wood hit against the other wall. Though she had expected to see only air, she found herself face to face with a cunning smile and flashing silver eyes. It was then that she knew that this was the man who had stolen away dreams and gifted her with nightmares. With a spindling form he loomed over her, teeth glinting menacingly as though already planning something wicked.

"Hello Alice." She stood motionless, not sure whether she should run into the sanctuary of her room or marvel at the handsome features of the man's face. "Oh, how I have missed you." He sighed, hands clamping onto her shoulders as if inspecting her from the shadows. The untold mysteries surrounding him left her frozen in fascination, a faint buzz soon filling her mind as she tried to take hold of the situation.

Before she could speak, he grabbed her by the hand, leading her quickly down the hall. "We must go," he said quietly, though his voice would soon rise in triumph. The words, as though cast in fire, melted her frozen posture. Though the promise of adventure excited her, reason still reared its head as her instincts told her to stay behind.

"Stop, please, Sir!" She finally called to him, hoping that someone would hear her as his grip tightened around her delicate hand.

"We have no time for this. You will come with me this instant!" Emeline tried to stop walking in hopes of stalling him, but he pulled her along until he suddenly stopped, looking around with an evaluating gaze.

"He is around somewhere, is he not?" She blinked as his arm twisted to pull her, bringing her to fall against his muscled back.

"I do not understand!" She whispered furiously as he turned to her, not yet frightened by the man whose eyes changed to darkness.

"We have no time for this," He repeated. "I will silence him later if you are inclined." The words held a dark intent, the levels of his danger spiking in her mind. Panic stricken, she managed to break away from him, running several few feet away before she froze. She wasn't sure what stopped her, but a deep compulsion caused her to turn back, an unknown desire telling her to run back into his arms. _But you do not even know this man. _Her mind whispered fearfully before she was visited by her still childish imagination. _Of course I know who he is_, _he is the ghost from the stories._ The need to run filled her, but her legs remained stubbornly frozen, curiosity keeping her still.

He moved ever so slightly, catching her attention with the silvery reflection of his eyes.

"Come to me," he beckoned, offering his hand for her to take. Taking the hand would be madness, something unheard of in her time, though she couldn't help but wonder. She could see a promise in his eyes, something that spoke of a great adventure. They calmly invited her, belaying all evidence that had previously warned her of his palpable danger. _Why not? _Her curiosity whispered, prodding her with its insufferable questions._ Why not?_

Drifting slowly, she crossed the hall, hand darting forward to clasp his own. All thought scattered as she stared at him, hypnotized. His hand closed around hers, sending a slight jolt through her heart.

"Say your final farewell to this place, for you will not see it again." She averted her eyes, breaking the spell he had cast over her. Coming back to her senses she elbowed him in the ribs, again realizing that he could do her harm.

An inhuman growl rose from his throat and she would have been stunned had the man not impatiently pressed against the side of her neck, causing her to fall unconscious into his waiting arms. "You always were rather delicate." He mused, laughing maliciously as he stepped through a mirror at the end of the hall. A clock chime echoed throughout the large house, drowning out his manic laughter as the mirror glinted innocently in the moonlight.


	3. The Shattered Ghost

She groggily opened her eyes, realizing with a start that she was now seated in a heavy oak chair. Before her stood a long, narrow table, with an array of teapots and cups designed with various black and white patterns. Her eyes slowly rose to the end of the extremely long table and froze. Inhaling sharply, she noticed that the shadow of a man was sitting at the other end, simply staring at her.

"Where am I?" She spoke just loud enough for him to hear, unaccustomed to shouting across a table. His grin grew wider as he stared at her pale face.

"Where else my dear, but where you are sitting?" His laugh was neither cheerful nor full of joy. It was a hollow laugh, given only to fill the desolate space that hung between them.

"Have you no answers to give me?" He couldn't see how her fingers twitched nervously in her lap, but could already sense her rising panic. Her eyes could hide no emotion from him; she was far too honest for that.

"If you were to ask decent questions perhaps I might have answers for you." She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke again. "However, I see no reason to answer any of your questions for the answers are all rather obvious."

Emeline's shoulders sagged, his gaze giving rise to a disconcerting chill spine up her spine. Although he didn't seem as threatening as before for reasons unknown to her, there was an air about him that was not quite right. _Is there any way for me to get out of this conversation? _She thought hopelessly as she tried to make out his appearance from the shadows.

"Surely I deserve to know your name?"

He smiled wildly at her, his fingers linking together atop the crowded table. "You have not been gone so long for an introduction to be necessary, unless you find it fitting?" His eyes were hopeful but soon became disappointed as he studied Emeline's expressionless face.

Standing up he removed the large, black top hat from his head, and bowed deeply to her. "I am The Mad Hatter, my dear." He held his hand out to her, although they were many feet apart. Refusing to respond, she remained seated, choosing instead to study his features. Although it was still dark, she could make out more of his face from the dull glow of the lanterns hanging bleakly overhead. As she had earlier noticed, his eyes were pale silver, seeming no less frightening than they had been before.

She shivered as he looked at her, making her feel as though his eyes were piercing through her very soul. His parted hair was shoulder length and as black as the surrounding shadows. Although she couldn't see the hat too well through the gloom, she could just make out the outline of a card, which had been delicately strapped down by a black band. His face was almost as pale as his shirt and contrasted greatly against his black suit, making him appear to be the very ghost she had earlier feared.

"Does my appearance still please you?" He asked with a light tone, though the look he gave her proved otherwise.

Emeline nodded wordlessly, noticing that although he was slight of frame, his features remained utterly masculine. He sat back down, somehow seeming to come closer to her even as twelve chairs stood between them on either side.

"I have poured your tea already." He said to her, removing a crystal blade from his pocket and pulling back his coat sleeve. She watched him curiously, not sure of what he was doing. _He is not going to… _Nauseously, she watched him slide the blade across the bared flesh, causing a stream of red to fall into his teacup.

When she made no move to drink from her cup he looked at her again, frowning.

"Drink it." His lips barely moved as he stared coolly at her. She shook her head weakly, trying to push the teacup away.

"No, thank you," Her voice came out shaky as a cold sweat dampened her nightgown. "I have no great love for tea."

He grinned evilly at her before drawing a mouthful from his own cup, ignoring her shudder as he relished the taste.

He rose suddenly, coming at her with an impossible speed as the darkness licked at his back like flames. She felt the bite of crystal at her throat as the coolness of the teacup touched her lips. "Oh but you love my tea, Alice," he crooned, his eyes softening slightly as she tried in vain to arch her neck away from the sharp surface. "Come now silly girl, have you forgotten our tea parties?"

She looked at him with terror-filled eyes. "Yes?" His fingers tightened around the crystal dagger, dragging it gently across her skin as her blood trickled down the smooth column of her neck. "You only see him now, do you not?" He yelled suddenly, sliding the crystal roughly across the surface of her skin.

She instinctively grabbed at her throat as he walked away, the teacups lying shattered behind him. "You never came back, Alice." He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sat back down. She clamped her hands over the deep wound, eyes bulging as she fought for breath.

He watched her struggle with a strange calm as he poured another cup from the large, checkered teapot. He didn't worry for her sake in that moment, knowing she would calm down soon enough. _How silly you are, my Alice._

She pressed a napkin to her throat to stem the flow, but it caused her throat to burn. "Please." She gurgled and choked, feeling faint. He tapped his gloved fingers on the table impatiently, as though expecting something. When she said nothing else, he finally spoke.

"But you have time for me now, do you not?" A flicker of hope sparked in his eye but quickly died when again she spoke.

"Please."

He stood up and walked to her, slowly this time. She tried not to cringe as he again placed the tea before her. "Come, my dear," he said, cupping her face in his hand, his nails pressing her cheeks through his thick gloves. "You must say more than that one word if you want me to help you."

She tried to blink away the tears that defied her, frustrated when they streaked into his palm.

"P-please, m-make it stop."

He grinned triumphantly, his teeth long and seeming to sharpen in the shadows.

"As you wish, Alice." He slid her tea closer to her, triumph in his every motion as he watched her inward struggle. "Drink all of it then, Love." He had trapped her and they both knew it. All that was remained was for her to admit her defeat by drinking the tea.

Hesitantly, she drew her hands away from her throat, the streaks of red already beginning to dry on her stark white gown. Clutching the teacup with shaking hands, she quickly choked it down, avoiding The Hatter's malicious grin. As soon as the hated substance entered her mouth it burned, as though flames were being poured down her throat. Her stomach felt as though it was full of ashes as she fought not to choke it back out.

"What did you put in this?" She gagged, disoriented.

He noted with satisfaction as her eyes clouded over. "The fire of this world," he whispered, stroking her cheek fondly before she passed out.


	4. The Tricked Puppet

Emeline awoke without a sense of place or time. Opening her eyes, she was engulfed in a room as dark as pitch. _I must be in my room._ It took only moments to realize she could not move. She struggled to push that which wrapped around her body, feeling what felt like bed sheets. No matter how hard she fought she could not budge. Childhood nightmares of being paralyzed flashed through her head and she tried not to scream.

"Why can I not move?" She cried instead, the trembling of her lips the only movement allowed to her.

"Because I do not wish it," came the calm reply from the dark, her heart tightening in despair as candles suddenly flared to life.

She lay in a long, thin bed that was lacquered completely in black. She could see the head and footboards, which were made of twisting wood. Carved within the twisted branches were several faces, one seeming to resemble the very man who continued to torment her. The face in the wood carving was heavily detailed, lifelike, and seemed to hold such a heavy burden she almost couldn't bear to look at it. The figure's chest had become an empty hole from where the curving branches had separated, and in his hands he held a heart. She averted her gaze, sickened. It was a mistake to look away however, for she was now forced to look at The Hatter.

He was smiling at her once again, though now it was neither cruel nor insane like the ones he had seemed restricted to. It was a very small, secret smile that made her feel as though she were everything he had ever wanted. He sat across from the bed on a long spindled chair, his hands and chin resting upon a black walking stick.

"Why can I not move?" She asked, disconcerted by his stare. His brows knitted together and she immediately knew she had said something wrong.

"Because my love, I have made you my puppet as I am yours." Spurred by the casual words, she frantically fought to move, her efforts futile. _But I do not want to be a puppet! _

"Why have you become my puppet?" She demanded, wishing she could shake her hands in frustration as he continued to fix her with a calm stare.

He moved to stand beside the bed, his cane dangerously close to her face as its silver tip glinted into her eyes.

"Always curious were you not?" He sneered as the cold steel dug into her cheek. "You always needed answers, which is how you found this place. How you found me…" He backed away as though his own words had broken through his insanity and shown him what he was doing. "You always questioned my love for you," he whispered.

Transfixed, she looked to the mirror the mirror beside him. Although partially cracked and dirty, she could see the shadow of her face. She squinted her eyes, staring at her throat, seeing no scar or even the remains of a cut. She moved to touch her neck, only to remember that the action had been denied her.

"The cut is gone."

He grinned at her with a manic glint in his eye as though it were all some marvelous game. "You were not dying, you know."


End file.
